THE OAK TREE THAT ATE ALABAMA

September of 1989 was an exciting time for us.  We moved into our new house.  It’s the first time we lived in a brand new place.  First time we could afford luxuries like a two car garage, screened in back porch, full basement.

But my favorite part was the wide open, half-acre backyard.   I’m a big backyard guy.  I don’t get young people today who want to move in to those tightly bunched houses on tiny lots.  The ones where you can reach out your kitchen window and help your neighbor dry her dishes.  I don’t want to trim my front yard with a hand scissors.  The neighborhoods where the guy next door fires up his grill and sets off your smoke alarm.

I’m one of those freaks who actually enjoys mowing the lawn in a big yard…….ah, the smell of freshly cut grass, the symmetry of  well-manicured turf, the breeze caressing your face, the funny clanking sound as you run over that rock you keep forgetting to move, and the way you giggle at yourself when you realize your mower is no longer mowing because the blade is lying on the ground back by that rock.

But I digress….

Yes, our new house had everything…..everything except a tree.  You see, the property used to be a cow pasture…..at least, that’s what the realtor told us (so it must be true).  I could envision a herd lazily basking in the hot Alabama sun, chewing on tall stalks and answering the call of nature anywhere they pleased.  (Made mental note:  Check yard for call of nature answers.)  But Southern summers being what they were, I knew we would need at least some shade in our little corner of the earth.

So I bought me a little oak tree.  It was about as tall as me.  I had always admired the beautiful, spreading oaks at the local cemetery.  What a wonderful place to be put to rest, I thought…..under that stately canopy.  (Please don’t kill the sentiment by pointing out the obvious…that I would be dead and it wouldn’t matter.)   I could imagine such glory in my own backyard one day.

So I planted, nursed, watered, fertilized, trimmed and generally loved my oak tree.  Through the next 27 years, my life took a roller coaster ride of ups and downs, euphoria and heartbreak, and all the while, my oak tree went through it with me….always there as a comforting constant as I sat staring at it from my porch.  As I grew in the experiences of life, my oak tree grew as well….and grew….and grew…and grew.

Which brings me to my current dilemma.  Like a child that has lived in the basement for too long, my tree has worn out its welcome.  I don’t know why I just assumed it would stop growing at some point, like people do.  But it has morphed into this monstrous skyscraper of lumber that now threatens my house and shades out most all the grass.  Now when I mow the backyard I churn up a dust storm that has the neighbors checking their weather radios for tornado watches.  Nothing can live under this tree, except for fire ants.   Occasionally, huge branches will sever during a high wind and plummet to the ground, causing me to haul out my chain saw….which, considering my lack of tool skills, is even more terrifying to the neighbors.

And so I face what is, for me, a difficult decision….live with the inconveniences, or ponder getting rid of my old friend.  I tried to have “the talk” with it the other day, but it was non-responsive.  In my soul, I know eventually it will have to come down…. and when that happens, I will feel like I am losing an old companion.

Oh well….maybe the cows will come back to fill the void.